Derrick
The kitchen smells like coffee and something burnt.
Mike stands at the counter like he owns the place—barefoot, calm, flipping a knife in his hand like it’s a habit, not a statement. I don’t bother asking what he’s doing. We’re past that.
“You’re getting sloppy,” I say.
He doesn’t look up. “Am I?”
“You took a witness.”
That gets his attention.
The knife stills. He finally turns to face me, eyes sharp but amused. “You mean Hayden?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “That Hayden.”
Mike laughs. Actually laughs. “Relax. He’s fine.”
“I watched the video,” I say. “I saw the way you looked at him.”
Mike shrugs. “I liked him.”
I stare at him for a long moment. “You took him.”
“Borrowed,” he corrects. “Big difference.”
“You crossed a line.”
He leans against the counter, studying me like I’m the interesting one here. “You knew it was me from day one.”
I don’t deny it. “Of course I did.”
“So why didn’t you stop me?”
I sip my coffee. “I wanted to see how far you’d go.”
Mike grins. “Figures.”
I set the mug down. “But taking someone who wasn’t part of it? That’s messy. That brings attention. That brings questions.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Where is he?”
Mike jerks his head toward the hallway. “My room.”
I freeze. “…Your room?”
“Yeah.”
I walk past him, down the hall, already bracing myself for something I don’t want to see.
I open the door.
Hayden is sprawled on Mike’s bed, very much alive, flipping through a stack of old comic books like he’s been there all afternoon.
He looks up. “Oh. Hey.”
I blink once.
Then I close the door and walk back into the kitchen.
“Nobody is normal in this house,” I mutter.
Mike smirks. “Correction. Nobody except Jay.”
That hits wrong.
“He thinks it’s you,” Mike adds casually.
I look at him. “What?”
“He thinks you’re the one doing it,” Mike says, laughing now. “Isn’t that funny?”
Something tightens in my chest.
“He tried to keep the cops from talking to you,” Mike continues. “Kid was practically vibrating.”
I don’t laugh.
“What if that was true?” I say quietly.
Mike tilts his head. “What if what was true?”
“What if he really believed it was me?” I step closer. “If Jay thought I was capable of that… he wouldn’t stay. He’d run. He’d disappear.”
Mike studies my face, the smile fading just a little.
“He didn’t,” Mike says.
“No,” I agree. “He protected me.”
The kitchen goes quiet.
Mike exhales slowly. “You care too much.”
I look down the hallway, toward Jay’s room. Toward the person who has no idea how close he is to the truth—or how wrong he is about the monster.
“Then don’t make me choose,” I say.
Mike grins again. “Relax, cuz.”
But for the first time since this started, I’m not sure who I’m protecting anymore.
